


At War

by Ambrose



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:28:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrose/pseuds/Ambrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starts with a simple premise of "Ben breaks up a fight between Tybalt and Mercutio and ends up having a lengthy talk with him", and somehow veers into civil war au (not THE civil war, just a civil war). Also, Benvolio is a tea drinker, I will fight you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At War

Benvolio felt helpless. He didn't know how his cousins could have thought it was a good idea, but it clearly wasn't, as evidenced by Tybalt's grumbling, and Mercutio's storming out of the room a few minutes prior. Ben had no clue what had happened before he came in, he had no clue where Romeo or Juliet were, all he knew what that he was the one who'd have to deal with it all.

As always. Because his cousin and Juliet, no matter the good intentions they started off with, never saw things through properly, and he ended up cleaning up the mess. And no matter how many time he would remind them all that he was not their mother, he'd still be there to put things back together.

Still, that didn't usually involve interacting with Tybalt. Not that he had anything against him; he liked the man, actually – and understood him probably better than he'd like. This time, however, Romeo and Juliet had thought it a good plan to reconcile their friends by inviting them both and leaving them alone in the same room. Of course they did not tell Benvolio, or he'd have explained why this was such a bad idea.

When he'd learned – he'd met his cousin on the street while looking for Mercutio, at which point they revealed the whole scheme to him –, all he could do was run to Romeo and Juliet's place, where the meeting had been set up. He'd crossed paths with Mercutio running down the stairs, who shoved him against the wall while yelling at him to leave him be; and Ben, surprised, had no time to do anything but that before Mercutio had jumped on his motorbike and disappeared. At least he did not look physically hurt. And he wasn't drenched in blood, which was always a good thing.

Benvolio went to check up on Tybalt anyway. And found him pacing around the place, cursing in a low rumble. He had no clue what had happened, but Tybalt was clearly upset, and now that he was there, he couldn't possibly leave him like that.

What _could_ he do, though? Just when he was asking himself that, Tybalt took notice of him.

“That was all your idea, wasn't it?” His accusatory tone did nothing to impress Benvolio. He's seen that too many times, in Mercutio and others – in Tybalt himself, even – he was on the defensive, trying to pick up a fight because that's all he knew, that was familiar ground, safe, and would not require him to confront his emotions.

“I did not.” Benvolio simply stated, in a quiet tone. What else could he really say? He did not want to have Romeo's murder on his conscience, no matter how annoying his cousin was. And what comfort could he give when he did not know what was up and what had happened – oh, he had his doubts, but he could not risk being wrong – and when he did not know this man enough to know what would help. At least, with Mercutio, it was easier – with time, he'd grown to know exactly what he needed to feel better, which words would work and which would just anger him more. They were friends. Tybalt looked at him and probably could only see a Montague.

Tybalt grimaced at his reply. He was shaking all over. In fact, for an instant, Benvolio thought he would hit him; but he turned around and smashed his fist on the table instead. He looked so helpless, then; surprised at himself and like paralysed, crumbling on himself, motionless though he was. Benvolio came closer and gently put his hand on Tybalt's that was still resting on the table.

“I'm not the enemy here,” he whispered.

Tybalt pulled away like his hand burned; he winced, barely audible: “don't touch me!”

“Alright,” Benvolio said, holding his hands up to show he would not. “You don't have to keep it all to yourself, though, you know.” He paused. “We can talk.” He finally added. That was some very stupid thing to say, but he figured he could say it anyway, and he wasn't sure Tybalt had anyone else to confide in, and in that moment he felt so bad for him, he just wanted to be of help – knowing so very well how it hurts when you're utterly alone, thinking no-one would listen even if you could somehow manage to say all that you wish to say.

Tybalt, however, did not seem to take this well. “Talk? To you?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “So you can all have a laugh at my expense afterwards? Sounds like a plan.”

Benvolio sighed. “I know I never gave you any reason to trust me, but I don't think I ever gave you reason not to, either. And I'm sure you hate me for some perfectly valid reason I'm not privy to, but if you think for one second that I'd go about telling everyone what you told me personally... Well, you're wrong.” He shrugged. “Though I get it, my words probably mean nothing to you.”

“I don't hate you”, he answered, flatly. “Just that...” He stopped himself.

“Just Mercutio?” Benvolio completed. “But do you really?”

Tybalt looked away, and Benvolio thought he was blushing. But when he looked up again, straight into Ben's eyes, there was nothing but anger. “Yes! Him and your fucking cousin! And if you think for just one second that I'll be tricked into confiding in you, when you lot have done everything to make me the butt of the joke, and setting this up, and you think I don't get it? Just how stupid do you think I am?”

Benvolio reached for his shoulder, but stopped himself just before touching him.

“I get it. But you're mistaken if you think I – or even Mercutio – had anything to do with this.” He pointed at the whole apartment. “Who told you to come here? Your cousin, I guess? Neither Mercutio nor I knew anything about this. I was looking for Mercutio when Romeo told me I'd find the both of you here, and at least _someone_ had to try and keep you from killing each other, since our cousins clearly did not see how that would happen.”

Tybalt rolled his eyes. “We're not children you get to babysit. We can make our own decisions.”

“I'm aware. But I don't have to approve of those decisions. And you did not exactly choose to find yourselves in the same room – I hoped to prevent that.”

“How kind of you,” Tybalt retorted.

Benvolio sighed again; that was starting to get old. He was tired of all this barely repressed anger and the passive-aggressive remarks. It all made no sense. The feud between their families, in the first place made no sense; and he could not understand why someone like Tybalt, who seemed otherwise clever, would engage in it. And he had no clue why he and Mercutio hated each other so much either, but he would not be caught following that trend of being mad at people for no reason.

“What do you have against me? I mean, personally?”

Tybalt stared at him, his face a blank.

“You're a Montague,” he finally said, as if it were argument enough.

“So? You're a Capulet. I have nothing against you.”

Tybalt stared at him, as if he were some sort of alien – as if it were some impossible thing, that anyone could, somehow, not have a natural distrust and hatred of him.

“Maybe you should.”

He then sighed, and Benvolio, as a reflex, put his hand on his shoulder to comfort him – before he realised that he'd done exactly what Tybalt asked him not to. Only before he had time to take it away, Tybalt turned towards him and pulled him into an embrace. Benvolio was expecting him to wrench away, storm off or hit something any moment, but he did not, he just clung to him. And that was unexpected – but then what _could_ be expected from Tybalt, anyway? – and not a situation he'd ever thought he would find himself in, but not disagreeable either. Now if only he could get Tybalt to open up to him... But since he did not know what to tell him, and was just too afraid to anger him inadvertently, he simply rubbed his back.

“I shouldn't,” he ended up whispering – and this had Tybalt pull away, a confused, angry expression on his face.

“Right. Now pity me all you want.”

But there was no more of that fierceness that usually characterized Tybalt – it was all gone, and somehow it scared Benvolio more than all his anger ever could.

“I don't,” he tried. “I just don't think... I simply have nothing against you. And I don't understand why you'd wish me to – to fear you.”

Tybalt took another step back and turned his back to him. “Because then you would not gloat about it to your friends!”

Ben took a step towards him, then realised crowding him may not be the best idea. He leaned against the table instead and, trying to be the reasonable one of the two, asked: “why do you feel such a need to keep everyone at bay?”

Tybalt looked down, still his back to him – avoiding his stare. Benvolio went on. “Keeping everything locked in, it never... It doesn't make it easier. Trust me. It just deprives you from the good parts.”

“At least I don't get hurt.”

Benvolio couldn't repress a sharp laugh. “Don't you?” And when Tybalt frowned in anger, he added, barely a whisper: “then tell me your secret.”

Yet Tybalt must have heard him, and came closer yet. “You're toying with me, right now… Right?” A change in his voice – his curiosity, and the gentle way in which he asked, as if afraid to hurt him by his queries... the tone of someone who knew too well what hurt is when you cannot mention it. Benvolio looked up, and met his eyes – seeing there an understanding that only shared pain could create. “You don't... who... would you tell me?”

Benvolio closed his eyes. “It's not that simple...” He breathed, trying to find a way to convey his meaning – and was grateful that Tybalt did not press him. Eyes still closed, he felt a hand on his shoulder – light, hesitant, but still there, comforting. He laid his over it.

It wasn't that he did not trust him. Tybalt as too honourable to ever repeat what he was told in private. Rather, Benvolio rarely ever spoke of himself. Not even to his best friends. Telling all that to Tybalt would have felt... _off_.

“It's okay,” Tybalt finally said. How different he was when he wasn't angry! “You don't have to say anything.”

Ben let go of his hand, eventually, and went to make some tea. Nevermind that it wasn't his own apartment; if it was good enough for them to trap Mercutio and Tybalt together here, it was good enough for him to do as he pleased with their teapot. Which, he knew, Juliet had bought mostly for him, because Romeo only drank coffee and wanted nothing of those “herbs”, and Juliet favoured hot chocolate.

Besides, the process soothed him, and right now he needed it to keep his mind busy so he wouldn't think too much. He tried to ignore Tybalt's stare, that he could feel on his back.

Barely turning his head, he asked, “What happened? If you don't mind telling me?”

“The usual,” Tybalt shrugged. “We fought.”

“Why?”

“We never needed a reason.”

“Yes, you do!” Benvolio breathed out, trying to stay calm, and poured boiling water in the teapot. “Maybe not for this one in particular then, but... Why do the two of you fight, at all?”

“Out of habit, I guess.”

“How did it start, then?”

“I don't remember.”

Benvolio could tell he was lying, but he did not press him. He found two cups in a cupboard, filled them, and handed one to Tybalt. The suspicious look he gave the beverage made Benvolio laugh.

“It won't bite you! And you saw me prepare it – no poison!”

“One's never too sure,” Tybalt smiled.

“You've never tasted tea?” That was hardly conceivable for Ben, who drank it all day long.

“Not that...” he pointed at the teapot “... mess full of bits and stuff. Teabags, yeah. It's clean and practical. Even then, I don't like it.”

Oh, dear! Before he realised it, Benvolio was ranting at how disgusting teabags were, and that one never tasted tea if they just knew teabags, and basically making the apology of his favourite beverage. He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Tybalt's... fond? smile.

“Sorry.”

“It's actually quite fun to see you get all wound up for some... water. Alright, you convinced me.”

“Careful, it's hot!”

Tybalt cast him a weird look, as if he'd said something, and then the thought occurred to him that maybe Tybalt thought there was a double meaning to it – it was a bit far-fetched, but they were both so used to Mercutio, after all –, he hid his face in his cup – and effectively burned his tongue. Tybalt chuckled. He waited a bit, careful to blow on it ( _damn, mind, shut up! When did I turn into Merc?_ Benvolio wondered) before he finally took a sip. With an appraising look one might give a good glass of wine, he remarked that it was actually quite good “for a plant.”

“Because coffee's not a plant?”

“Point taken.”

They drank in companionable silence after that. Tybalt stood up as soon as his mug was empty.

“I should go,” he said. “Romeo and Juliet will probably arrive soon, and I don't want to get angry at _them_.” His tone was soft, but decided. “You should probably go and run after Mercutio, as well,” he added, like an afterthought.

It surprised Benvolio.

“Why?”

Tybalt simply shrugged.

“Mercutio can take care of himself, you know. I'm his friend, not his sitter.”

Tybalt smiled at this. “Alright, sorry about that.” On this, he left.

Well, that had been quite a weird encounter, Benvolio reflected as he poured himself another cup of tea. And he had to admit that, maybe, he misjudged Tybalt, because really, even if he wasn't as biased against him as Mercutio was, he did not think until then that they could ever have a conversation that would not turn into a fight.

 

 

They did not meet until a few weeks later, and by then, everything had changed. A new brawl between partisans of Montagues and Capulets had left a man – an outsider – dead. An accident, they said, which nonetheless prompted new fights, this time from people who had had it with the nobles' conflicts, and Verona was on the brink of civil war again. Fights erupted on the streets without warning, weapons were procured no-one knew how; and the Prince's forces, reduced during the latest peace time, struggled to keep some kind of order.

Benvolio stayed inside as much as he could, even if it made him feel like an animal in a cage. He had seen how bad it could get, when Romeo and Juliet got together and the fights that ensued made them all think it could never get worse. And he wanted none of that. All he could really do was hole up, keep in touch with his friends, and wait for it to blow over. None of his calls for peace were ever listened to before anyway, and lately it was not the Montague and Capulet supporters, who'd been urged to calm down by their respective patriarchs, but rebels who wanted to take over this hell of a city and its archaic political system. He supported their cause, but not the means they employed – and most of all he had no power amongst them. As far as they were concerned, he, as all Capulets, Montagues, Della Scala and others, was an enemy. It was definitely even worse than before.

 

He first ignored the insistent ringing of the bell. His friends knew better than to visit him without a warning text before, especially in the current conditions. Then he heard pounding on the outside door to the building.

Quite unlike his friends, he'd always lived by a “better safe than sorry” motto, and so he switched off all lights to look outside in case he could see who it was – hoping the darkness inside the apartment would keep him hidden from view. The street was dark outside, street lamp destroyed – yet he knew the figure who was desperately knocking at the door, looking warily around him.

_Tybalt?_ He felt relieved. This would have been strange, a few weeks ago – he was a Capulet – he had always been the enemy. But then, he was Juliet's cousin, and if he was not (yet) exactly a friend, she at least, and even him lately, had proved countless times that Capulets weren't so bad. He remembered their last talk quite fondly, in fact. And he had to have a good reason to be here. They both had the same targets on their backs now, after all.

He considered opening the door from the apartment, but decided against it and went to open to him in person: knowing how loud the interphone was, he would not speak into it, not knowing who might be skulking in the shadows.

When he opened the door, Tybalt, driven by his momentum, almost fell against it. He clung to the doorframe to prevent his fall, but even then he looked off – though Benvolio couldn't really tell why in the darkness. Of course no-one had bothered to replace the lightbulb in the hallway in over a decade either; it had never really been useful when there was still light outside. Was he drunk, or something? No, that would have been something _Mercutio_ would have done; Tybalt probably not. He did not smell of alcohol, either.

Benvolio helped him up the stairs, and everything became clearer when they reached his flat and Benvolio turned on the lights.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?”

Blood was running down Tybalt's face from a gash on his forehead. Not to mention his torn shirt and the bloody slashes on his chest. Someone clearly jumped him, and it was a wonder he made it to Benvolio's apartment in that state.

“You need to go to the hospital, you can't just...”

“Relax, Ben, I'm okay, just...”

But from the way Tybalt was clinging to him, and how he had trouble standing up, Benvolio could tell that he clearly was not, in fact, okay. Ben lead him to the couch, and had him sit down, trying to stay calm himself.

“I'm gonna call the emergencies, you just wait here.”

“Don't bother. There's no more cell service.”

Benvolio closed his eyes and tried to breathe, on the verge of panic, until Tybalt pulled him by the arm and forced him to sit.

“I'm okay, I assure you. I've seen worse. Just need to clean the cuts. I shouldn't even be here. That was a mistake. I'll just l...”

He made to get up, but Benvolio forced him to sit back. He wouldn't have any of this. He had had enough of that when dealing with Mercutio in the past, and he very well knew that Tybalt wasn't just fine. And he wasn't going to let him go back outside where war could be going on for all he knew.

“No, you're not! You scared the shit out of me, barging in in the middle of the night! So now that you're here, you're gonna stay and tell me what the fuck is going on!”

“I don't want to b...”

“Well, now that you've bled all over my apartment, it's a bit late to think about that,” he said, firmly, as he got up. “You're staying. It's not up for debate.”

When he came back with bandages and disinfectant, and made Tybalt take his shirt off, the Capulet insisted that he could do it himself.

“No, you can't.” Benvolio felt on the edge of panic at the sight of the wounds, and he didn't quite like the sound of his voice as he said that.

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“No, you clearly can't! You just got yourself stabbed, for fuck's sake, stop acting like everything's okay and you're in control of the situation and...”

Benvolio stopped right there when Tybalt took his head in his hands. He looked worried – much more than he'd been about his wounds or anything, and Ben did not know what was happening anymore.

“Calm down.” Tybalt whispered. “It's alright. I assure you. I've been hurt before, and I know this looks bad, but I'm not gonna die on you, I swear.” He grinned. “I'll buy you a new carpet if that's what worries you.”

Benvolio couldn't repress a smile. “Idiot!” He punched him in the shoulder – lightly – and then profusely apologized, as he hit a wound.

In the end Tybalt let himself be taken care of; and really, however weird it felt, Benvolio was really thankful for having something to occupy himself with while Tybalt explained what happened.

He'd been caught up in a fight he tried to stop – the irony! – on his way to his uncle's house. He didn't know who they were, he even thought some of them were Capulet allies, but none of that family alliances mattered anymore. Outside, it was just chaos. The Prince's forces were overwhelmed; families like the Capulets who could afford to pay for their own security holed up in their mansions surrounded by their little armies, and waited for the storm to pass. He knew Juliet was in security with Romeo's family; he had assumed Benvolio would be with them as well, that the compound would be empty, but he tried his chance anyway, as he was the only one he knew in the area, and while his wounds weren't as dire as Ben thought, he wasn't really optimistic of his chances if he had to fight again.

Benvolio did not know what to say, and so they were silent for a while, as he treated Tybalt's wounds. Such closeness was awkward, and reminded it of all the times he did the same for Mercutio after a fight. Fights which, incidentally, often involved Tybalt as well. Well, at least the Capulet kept still. The same could not be said of Mercutio, who would protest the whole time.

“Did we really start all this?”

“Did we start what?”

Benvolio closed his eyes. “This.” He sighed. “All of this. This apocalypse outside. Was that us? The stupid street fights we had, and the quarrels about long-forgotten conflicts. Why. What just...” He choked on his words. This was all too much. He didn't want to think about all these people outside and their righteous anger – and he didn't want to think about his involvement in all that.

When Tybalt took him in his arms and pulled him in a hug, it was unexpected, but Benvolio did not resist. He buried his face in the crook of his neck and let himself be cradled. It did not make things entirely better, but it helped.

“Ben?” Tybalt whispered after a while.

Benvolio pulled away a bit, just to look at him. He wiped the tears from his eyes, looking away. How could he have let himself be so weak, ? How ridiculous must he appear? But Tybalt simply smiled at him. “Ben, you need to sleep.”

He shook his head. “I can't. I just... I can't.” He felt the tears come back, and hid his face in Tybalt's neck. As if he had anything yet to hide from him now...

“I'll be there. No-one will hurt you.”

“But... you're hurt. You need the sleep as well.”

“Ben? When was the last time you slept?”

He just shook his head. He had no idea. Too long ago.

“Then you sleep now. I'll sleep in the morning.” It was the voice of a man used to be obeyed – and yet still soft – as if he really cared. And Benvolio was starting to believe he did.

 

When Benvolio woke up the next morning, his flat was cold and silent. Seized by a sudden and irrational fear, he jumped into his clothes and all but ran to his living room to check on Tybalt. Then he saw Tybalt had fallen asleep on his couch while he was supposed to keep watch. He smiled. He'd certainly hate to be found out, proud as he was of his training. The things he promised, he'd always make a point to do them perfectly. But he had needed the sleep, what with... And that's when Benvolio remembered how badly Tybalt had been hurt, what very much looked like a concussion and – he should never have left him alone! He rushed towards him, but he slipped on the tiled floor, fell and ended up on his ass.

Whether because of the fall, or the cry he let out, Tybalt woke up, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands and taking in the situation. Benvolio couldn't say it didn't hurt, but his relief at seeing Tybalt was alright well compensated the pain.

“What happened?” Tybalt asked.

“I thought...” He didn't dare finish the sentence. What _had_ he thought, exactly? He refused to finish that sentence. Not aloud, and not for himself either. “... you were asleep,” he finished.

“You're right, I failed to—”

Benvolio could see Tybalt was internally beating himself up over this already, so interrupted. “There was nothing to protect anyway, we'd have heard if anyone was coming, and you needed the sleep.”

“But...”

“Coffee?”

Tybalt frowned, but accepted the change of subject. “Tea, actually.”

“Oh, you drink dirty water now? Well, that's news!” he said as he left for the kitchen – but Tybalt did not react to the joke.

When Benvolio came back with two mugs, Tybalt was fidgeting the kitchen knife he'd borrowed the night before, to defend themselves should anything happen - in fact more likely just to reassure his host. Benvolio exchanged it for a mug and set it on the table before he flopped down on the couch next to Tybalt.

They drank silently for a moment. Benvolio concentrated on the mug in front of him, the heat going through his hands helping him relax.

“We can't stay here,” he finally said.

“Of course not. I can't even believe you stayed this whole time, alone in this neighbourhood?” Tybalt even cracked a smile. “I thought that out of all the Montagues, you were the one with the brains. Not very clever, was it?”

He knew Tybalt was just mocking him, but it hurt all the same, because he was right. He had been stupid, this time. He risked his life for no reason. Even though that might have saved Tybalt's life as well, coincidentally. He ignored the jab, however.

“I didn't mean here, this apartment. That's... that's evident. I meant, the city. It's not safe anywhere. There's no use holing up in our families' mentions.”

Tybalt shook his head. “I'm not leaving. You're right, we did this. We have to fix it.”

“There's no more fight to fight. It's too late for that. It's chaos, you said it yourself. What will you do? Recruit a bunch of Capulets, make your own justice? It's on us, yeah, I did say that. But there's nothing we can do now. In all probability the Prince will call some allies in other cities and they'll come in with all their armed forces, it's gonna be a guerrilla... Although he's smart too, he might really just abdicate if the pressure from the nobles weren't still so strong. But it's not fleeing, Tybalt. It's making sure we stay alive.”

There was a blank in the conversation. Then Tybalt whispered, “You say _we._ ”

Benvolio wasn't even sure what he meant by that, but it didn't take much convincing after that. He would not leave him behind, knowing he was injured already, and how prone he was to seeking trouble. No amount of “I'm not Mercutio” could convince Ben otherwise. He knew that. But they had more things in common than they'd ever admit, and recklessness was one of those things. They left.

It didn't take long for Ben to gather his stuff, he had been expecting to have to leave in a hurry. Locking the door, he wondered what would happen to the things he left behind. To his appartment. What would he find when he came back – if indeed he ever came back? He called Mercutio and Romeo from a nice neighbour's landline to make sure they didn't worry about him, and they too mentioned plans to leave. They had their whole lives ahead of them that they did not want shortened, and means enough – fights were alright when they were playful, but this was another matter entirely, even Mercutio agreed. They would meet later. He hung up after a while, sending Tybalt's well wishes to Juliet with no more explanation on the _why_ and _how_ they were together exactly.

Thank goodness for secure underground garages: Benvolio's car was still intact. He let Tybalt take the wheel, assuming he'd know what to do if anything happened – at least more that _he_ would know. But the drive to Tybalt's place turned out to be quite safe.

Tybalt's belongings all fit inside a backpack. “I don't have anything I hold on to”, he said when Benvolio wondered whether he didn't want to take anything else.

Tybalt's sports-car was at his uncle's, he didn't really want to go there lest he got detained by his worried aunt, or recruited to help with security. He now seemed to agree with Benvolio that they'd be safer away – or was just trying to humour him and get him to safety before going back to Verona on his own? Benvolio couldn't tell, but he very much hoped not. Tybalt sure was very protective of him – and Ben didn't know what to make of it. In any case, they both agreed that Ben's car would be less likely to attract unwanted attention, and they'd better stick together anyway. They indeed crossed paths with a few small bands on the streets, but they didn't pay much attention to his little car, that didn't quite match the means of the nobles they were looking for.

 

The first few days of sharing a hotel room – the time for them to figure out their new life – were probably the most awkward. Visiting apartments during the day – they agreed to sharing one, considering they didn't know how long this arrangement would have to last, and while their families were rich, they themselves didn't really have unlimited funds – and sharing a bed at night, huddled together, more for comfort than to ward off the cold.

At first Ben thought he was just imposing himself on him, that Tybalt was just being nice – pitying him – that he saw him as a kid who needed comfort after a nightmare. But he soon came to realise that although he'd never admit it, maybe not even to himself, Tybalt needed the comfort just as much as him. Being isolated from everyone they knew, not knowing what might happen to them – they might be safe themselves, but it didn't make it any easier. Benvolio knew just how dearly Tybalt was attached to his family.

As the days passed Romeo and Juliet, then Mercutio, all contacted them to confirm they'd safely left, and soon the friends met together again, and tried to rebuild their lives – with the comfort of knowing the situation in Verona was settling. Truth be told, once they had left they really did not mean to go back. It wasn't just the scarring environment of these last few weeks, but the atmosphere of hatred even after Romeo and Juliet's alliance had settled the old feud; the memories of useless fights and tension, the distrust of everyone that did not bear their family crest, and maybe most of all, how they were compelled to hate each other over the colour of a shield.

Brought closer together by these events, they did not really realise before their friends pointed it out to them that they had grown so close, so attached to each other that they was no point calling themselves “friends” anymore. They shared a meals, a flat, a bed, a life.

There would be no cute story to tell the children or nephews, about how the fights brought them together; there was no sugar-coating the trauma, no erasing the scars they still bore, inside and out. But away from the oppressive atmosphre of Verona, they could build a new life for themselves, where the lessons of the past had been learned and would not be repeated; where grudges were not held over trifles, and where no father figure or prince or mob could tell them how to live. Free, in short, Montagues and Capulets – Benvolio and Tybalt, like Romeo and Juliet – learned not to repeat the errors of their past, and buried their parents' strife.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago and the plot shift/change of tone may be a bit awkward, I'm aware, but I just didn't want all this to go to waste in some forgotten folder, so there you go :)


End file.
